


Mourning Rites

by And_Dream_Of_Erebor



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:10:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/And_Dream_Of_Erebor/pseuds/And_Dream_Of_Erebor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way from Moria to Lothlórien, Legolas accidentally insults Gimli. He apologises and offers to braid Gimli's hair as a gesture of good will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mourning Rites

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from the Hobbit Kink Meme:
> 
> "I'd like to read, if someone wouldn't mind, anything where Legolas and Gimli set aside their differences, during their time with the Fellowship, for grooming.... which leads to them braiding each other's hair.  
> They don't have to be bff's yet, but i'd like to see them taking the task of doing the other's hair very seriously."
> 
> I was intrigued by the "They don't have to be bff's yet" part; I tried to conceive a situation in which one of them would braid the other's hair while they still dislike each other.

The Fellowship was taking a short, uneasy rest a few hours after leaving Moria. After they had eaten and taken fresh water from the stream, and after Aragorn had tended to Frodo's and Sam's wounds, an uneasy silence fell on them. It was as if the loss of Gandalf had been hidden behind the fear, pain and hunger they were feeling, but now, in a brief moment of rest and safety, they became fully and painfully aware of it.  
  
While the hobbits huddled together by the fire, Legolas stood on a rock about ten steps away from the rest and kept watch. As he turned his head from one direction to the other, uphill, then downhill, and then uphill again, there was an additional nervous quality in his usual swift movements. Aragorn and Boromir were sitting near the fire, sharpening their swords.  
  
"Do we have a little more time?" Gimli asked them. "I would like to mourn for Gandalf and for my lost kinsmen in the proper dwarvish way."  
  
He noticed the slightly apprehensive look on Boromir's face and managed to smile a little.  
"Do not worry, master Boromir," he said. "These days it doesn't involve wailing loudly, or anything else that might attract attention to us. I just have to cut some of my hair and beard. It will not take much longer than sharpening a sword."  
  
He paused a little, and then added in a quieter, more serious voice:  
"We are still close to the place they perished, and also close to Mirrormere. The mourning ceremony will be much more significant here than anywhere else."  
  
Aragorn nodded and asked him:  
"Do you have to be alone? Because I wouldn't like to leave any member of our Fellowship out of sight."  
  
Gimli reassured him he would stay within sight -- there was no need for him to be alone, as long as he would be uninterrupted. He walked about a dozen steps downstream, then sat down on the pebbles of the stream bed. There was no sound except for the wind in the pine trees and his companions' blades being scraped against whetstones; the hobbits were not talking, and Legolas was still keeping watch.  
  
Gimli removed his helmet, then removed the carved stone bead from his hair and carefully undid it his braid. He did the same with the two smaller braids in his beard, and pulled out the small knife he carried on his belt.  
He took a lock of his hair between his fingers and held the blade of the knife against it. "For Tharkûn," he said in a low voice and cut it off. He carefully placed the lock of hair on the ground and covered it with pebbles. Then he repeated the same with three locks from his beard saying, one by one, the names Kibil-Tarag, Gatholûn and Muhudûn, the real names of Balin, Óin and Ori.   
  
He looked back at his companions and noticed that Legolas had joined them again, barely making a sound as he jumped down from the rock. He could hear the elf telling Aragorn: "Nobody is after us, and I can see no danger ahead of us. But we should go on as soon as possible and leave the mountains behind us before dark."  
"We'll go on in a few moments," Aragorn said.  
  
Gimli gathered his hair in his hands to braid it again. Noticing him, Legolas snapped nervously: "We are still not far away from the Orcs. Do we really have time for grooming?" He was speaking to Aragorn, but Gimli could hear him very well.  
  
Gimli glared at him and wanted to shout back an insult, but instead he bit his tongue and pointedly turned his head away. Aragorn put his hand on Legolas's shoulder, as if to calm him, and said something quietly.  
  
Gimli turned back when he heard the sound of light footsteps approaching him. It was the elf, who silently sat down near him. His face was serious and he seemed ill at ease. He was silent for a while, then he met Gimli's eyes and spoke in a quiet voice:  
  
"I have offended you, Gimli, son of Gloin. Please forgive me: it was not my intention. I did not realise you were observing a ceremony of mourning, and I had forgotten you had already been grieving for your kinsmen even before Mith..." He broke off and closed his eyes, and only after a few moments forced himself to continue: "... before Mithrandir died."

To his own surprise, Gimli felt his anger fading away. The elf seemed sincerely upset, and Gimli remembered that Gandalf had expressly wished for the two of them to be civil to each other. He would try, for Gandalf's sake if for no other reason. He lowered his head in a slight bow to show that the apology was accepted.  
  
"The fault was mine, Legolas, son of Thranduil. I should not have taken offence," he said. "There is no reason you should have recognised a dwarvish mourning ceremony."  
  
"Actually, I was not entirely unfamiliar with it. I attended the burial of Thorin Oakenshield seventy-eight years ago. So I was in fault for speaking without thinking," Legolas said, his face still very grave.  
  
Gimli felt too tired to allow himself to be caught in an endless circle of apologies. Besides, the elf was so visibly distressed, Gimli unexpectedly found himself wanting to make him feel better.  
  
"You must be glad our customs have changed since the days of old," he said in a lighthearted voice. "In ancient times dwarves would wail loudly and tear at their beards. Now that would have been interesting for the rest of you to watch!"   
  
Legolas responded with a faint smile.  
  
"Anyway, I'm done and we can go on, as far as I'm concerned," Gimli said and once again lifted up his hair to braid it, as he was going to do when the whole incident started.  
  
"May I help you braid your hair?" Legolas asked in a quiet, almost shy voice.  
Gimli's first impulse was to tell was no need for that, but remembering they had achieved a kind of truce and appreciating the kindness of the gesture, he accepted.  
  
He felt slightly uneasy when the elf moved in his usual, unnervingly quiet way and sat down behind him -- it was against all his instincts to have his back turned to an elf. Somewhat hesitantly, Legolas ran his fingers through Gimli's hair and carefully divided it into three strands. Gimli was surprised at how warm his hands were -- for some reason he had expected an elf's skin would be cold, like a lizard's. Smiling at the absurdity of that thought -- the elf had shown no discomfort in the snowy mountains, of course his body would be warm -- he relaxed.  
Legolas worked quickly and skillfully, crossing one strand of hair over the other, and soon finished the braid. "What do you tie your hair with?" he asked.  
  
Gimli handed him the large stone bead and Legolas fastened the braid. For a few moment they were both silent, partly glad of this sudden closeness and partly uncomfortable with it. Then Gimli said "Thank you!" and they both stood up to join the others, who were already prepared to go on.  
  
"The sun will set soon," Aragorn said. "Let us move as fast as possible before dark!"  
  
Everyone was eager to go, even Frodo and Sam, in spite of their wounds and bruises. They resumed walking down the slopes and towards Lothlórien, feeling a little less tired and hungry and, at least as two of them were concerned, a little more at peace.


End file.
